


memento

by notsafeforowls



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-25
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2020-03-14 17:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18952273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notsafeforowls/pseuds/notsafeforowls
Summary: The car’s a hotbox until they hit seventy, all the windows open, the radio turned up as high as it will go.(Or, a car ride that is also two car rides.)





	memento

**one**

 

If there’s one thing that Nate really hates about them needing a new core for the ship, it’s having to road trip across the country to get from one place to another. Or, more accurately, having to get to Mick to steal them a car in the middle of Las Vegas and drive across the damn desert and beyond to get to where they left the ship and the rest of the team a week ago.

 

The car’s a hotbox until they hit seventy, all the windows open, the radio turned up as high as it will go. Nate hums along to the radio – it’s some song he doesn’t even like that much, something he vaguely remembers his dad singing to him when he was a kid – and occasionally checks the mirrors for anyone else on the road. Nothing. No one.

 

Zari leans against the door on the passenger side, sunglasses on top of her hat, singing along so quietly that Nate only really notices in the second where the radio’s signal gets bad enough that it almost completely cuts out.

 

Almost against his will, Nate begins to sing along as well, catching Zari’s eye and smiling.

 

“I didn’t know you liked country music,” he says.

 

She shrugs. “My parents used to play everything when I was a kid. My mom used to say that someone with a narrow taste in music had a narrow mind.”

 

Sprawled across the backseat, his jacket off, Mick lets out a groan of disgust, says, “I hate country music,” the next time there’s a break.

 

 

 

**two**

 

If there’s one thing that Nate really hates about them needing a new core for the ship, it’s having to road trip across the country to get from one place to another. Or, more accurately, having to get to Mick to steal them a car in the middle of Las Vegas and drive across the damn desert and beyond to get to where they left the ship and the rest of the team a week ago.

 

The car’s a hotbox until they hit seventy, all the windows open, the radio turned up as high as it will go. Nate sings along to the radio – it’s some song he doesn’t even like that much, something he vaguely remembers his dad singing to him when he was a kid – and resists the urge to stick his head out of the window.

 

Mick changes the station, one hand loosely on the wheel, muttering about the radio being a piece of shit when he has to shift past static until they find one that works. Elvis.

 

“No fucking way,” Mick says, but Nate stops his hand before he can change it again. “Go to hell, Pretty, I’m not suffering this.”

 

“We need a tiebreaker.” Nate twists around until he can reach back to look Behrad in the eye. “What do you think? Elvis, or whatever Mick wants to put on?”

 

Behrad looks between Nate and Mick as he takes a slow drink from his bottle of water. Eventually, he says, “You know that one of the things Amaya told me before she left was to never get between the two of you in an argument, right?”

 

 

 

**three**

 

The car’s so hot that Nate can feel the sweat running down his back, but on some level, he recognises the dream. Maybe it’s the way that it feels like the car and everyone else in it are almost flickering, or maybe it’s the way that even though he’s looking right at the woman in the passenger seat, he can’t really see her.

 

He knows that she has dark hair and dark eyes but his brain stalls when he tries to think of her in any more detail. He knows that he should know who she is.

 

The radio switches between country and Elvis and Black Sabbath every ten seconds as they speed down the deserted highway. Nate’s hands are barely touching the steering wheel.

 

The mystery woman is singing along, switching with the song, and when she looks at Nate, she’s smiling, the saddest smile Nate’s ever seen – he thinks he can hear other people, but Mick and Behrad are both gone from the car.

 

“This never happened,” Nate takes his hands off of the wheel. The car keeps going, perfectly straight.

 

She shakes her head, taking his hand and squeezing it lightly. This, too, is familiar.

 

“This never happened,” she echoes, and she’s crying now.

 

 

 

**four**

Nate wakes up alone in his quarters, one hand curled around a handful of the sheets, his eyes wet.

 

He stays awake for a few more hours, trying to sketch out the woman from his dream, but it’s no use. Every time he thinks that he has one of her features down, it’s almost as if his memory shifts and he’s not so sure anymore.

 

“Gideon,” he rasps into the darkness eventually, wincing at the pain in his throat. His neck is still raw and bruised. “Las Vegas, 1987, who was with me on the drive back from Vegas to the ship?”

 

“According to my records, yourself, Behrad Tomaz, and Mick Rory all travelled by road from Las Vegas to the ship.”

 

That sounds right. But it feels wrong, for some reason that Nate can’t place.

 

People in dreams, even strangers, they’re supposed to be people you’ve seen in your life, even if you’ve never really noticed them.

 

But Nate’s sure he’d remember her.


End file.
